


Sleep Well, My Angel

by GreenArcher



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bedside Vigils, F/M, First Aid, French Kissing, Love Confessions, Marriage Proposal, Mindless Fluff, Near Death, POV Third Person Limited, References to Shakespeare, To Be Edited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-10-31 00:13:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10887855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenArcher/pseuds/GreenArcher
Summary: The Beast's wounds don't magically heal after he transforms, leaving a distraught Belle to watch over him while he recovers. Alternate ending to the 1991 film.





	1. Chapter 1

It was all very sudden. One moment she thought she'd lost him forever, the Beast she'd returned to and loved too late, and the next, he'd disappeared from her side completely. She watched, mesmerized, as he floated into the air, as though pulled by invisible strings. A gust of wind turned him around in his cape, and then, in a burst of light, his clasp opened and his arm broke free.

And for the first time in her life, Belle was at a complete loss for words. For there were no words in her vocabulary that could adequately describe what she was seeing. All she knew was that the being who rose into the air was not the same being who landed back on the ground. Whoever they were, they had bare feet and hands, partially obscured by a veil of green mist. A sight that left her just as confused as she was terrified.

Seconds passed. The green mist faded, along with the rest of the light emanating from the figure. Now it was just Belle. Belle and the rain and the stranger lying underneath the Beast's cloak.

Indecisiveness gripped at her like a vice. On the one hand, she had no idea who was under that cloak, and that uncertainty frightened her. On the other hand, she was desperate to know what had happened to her Beast. Was he all right? Was he still alive? Her curiosity and newfound feelings for him were enough to overcome her fear. So she approached the figure and lifted his tattered cloak.

Instantly, her breath hitched in her throat. Not a beast, but a sleeping man lay there, face partially hidden by a curtain of long red hair. He looked strangely familiar to her, but why? Where had she seen him before? She felt an inexplicable desire to reach out and touch him, but before she could, a voice startled her from her thoughts.

"Out of the way, mademoiselle!" The voice belonged to Lumière, but the speaker was a lanky man dressed in a brown vest. He ran out to the balcony accompanied by an elderly lady in a purple pinafore dress and a plump man with a pocket watch hanging from his neck. Although Belle had never seen them before, their mannerisms and facial features were exactly like…

"Lumière? Cogsworth? Mrs. Potts?" she said in disbelief. "But I don't understand. How are you all—?"

"We'll explain everything soon, dearie," Mrs. Potts said in warm understanding. "But right now, we've got to help the master."

Lumière knelt beside the unconscious man and lifted his cloak, exposing a pool of dark blood seeping from his side. Several alarmed gasps elicited from the group as they took in the damage. Belle herself was gobsmacked. The man's injury mirrored the one that Gaston had given the Beast before he'd fallen to his death. This observation, along with the man's familiar appearance came together for her in a startling revelation. _Can it be? Is it even possible?_

"Is _he_ … the master?" she said, looking to the three servants in disbelief.

"Yes. Or rather, the master as he was supposed to be," Cogsworth explained, looking away from the blood apprehensively. "All of us were under an enchantment, you see. An enchantment that you broke just moments ago, after you confessed your love for him."

"He's still breathing!" Lumière said in relief as he checked for the master's neck for a pulse. "Cogsworth, see if you can find someone to help us carry him inside. And Mrs. Potts, I need you to fetch the castle _médécin."_

"Of course!"

"Right away, sire!" The two of them left without being told twice.

 _Still breathing?_ This information was enough to rouse Belle from her confused stupor. If the Beast— _man_ still showed signs of life, there was still hope that they could revive him! She knelt beside Lumière, who continued to examine his injuries.

"He's losing a lot of blood," he remarked gravely. "We should bandage him before we bring him inside."

"Let me help," Belle said automatically. She knew that the real reason Gaston had pursued the Beast tonight was because of her. And while she didn't have the power to reverse time and make it so that the villagers never discovered the Beast, she could at least try to mend the damage she'd caused.

The maître d' looked at Belle intuitively and nodded. If there was anyone who could tolerate the sight of blood, it was her. He carefully rolled up the master's now-oversized shirt to expose the wound. It was improper for Belle to see a man's bare back, but the severity of his injury overpowered any discomfort she might feel. A long, crescent-shaped gash lay just above his left hip, dripping with a sickening amount of blood. Just looking at it made her heart cry out in pity. If the master didn't get professional medical attention soon, he would surely die.

Together, she and Lumière tore off a piece of the master's cloak and wrapped it tightly around his chest to suppress the bleeding. Belle looked back at his face often, wondering if he would stir, but he remained pale and unresponsive. _Maybe it's for the best._ As long as he was unconscious, he would not feel any pain.

"The poor master. I doubt that this is how he wanted things to end," Lumière said after they'd finished bandaging him, pulling the rest of his cloak over him to keep him warm.

"You mean he _knew_ about this?" Belle asked in confusion. "That there was a way for him to become human?"

"But of course, mademoiselle. We all did. But the master forbid us from telling anyone outside the household. He was afraid of revealing his past, you see. He thought that if he did, someone might use it against him, or that it would tamper with the conditions of his curse."

"Conditions?" Belle raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "What conditions?"

 _"Sacrebleu,_ I forgot to explain." He shook his head at his ignorance. "I suppose it would be best to start at the beginning. You see, many years ago, an enchantress came to the castle disguised as an old beggar woman, asking for shelter from the cold. When the master refused her request on behalf of her ugliness, she turned him into a beast and us servants into enchanted objects as punishment. The only way we could be human again was if the master learned to love someone, and they loved him in return. After all these years, we'd lost hope that we would ever see that day. That was, until the day you walked through our doors."

"So, the Beast fell in love with me," Belle mused, "and when I said I loved him…"

"It reversed his transformation and made us all human again."

If not for the overwhelming evidence, Belle almost wouldn't have believed his story. It was truly incredible to think about. All this time there'd been an escape clause to the Beast's self-imposed prison, and he'd never told her. All those hours she'd spent alone with him, sharing her deepest secrets and insecurities, never realizing that he'd been hiding the biggest one of them all. And what had he gained by staying silent? Now all that was left of him was a wounded, unconscious man she'd saved too late; a page of a novel she'd never had the chance to read.

Cogsworth returned to the balcony with two men dressed in blue military outfits and black bicorn hats. Belle assumed that they were the castle guards, judging from their weapons and matching clothes.

"Lift him up gently," Lumière advised as the men gathered around the master. The guards did so promptly, carrying him into the West Wing with Belle, Lumière and Cogsworth in tow. For a moment after crossing the archway, Belle thought that she was in the wrong castle. The darkness and ruin of the Beast's old dwelling was gone, replaced by a pristine brightness that was both beautiful and dizzying to behold. Not a single piece of furniture or artwork was damaged or out of place. The floors gleamed as though they'd recently been polished, and the entire chamber was illuminated by warm sunlight—so foreign for a place that had once held so much pain and suffering. _Is this how the castle looked before the curse?_ she wondered to herself curiously.

The castle physician, Monsieur Guérisseur, was waiting by the master's bed with Mrs. Potts, who was holding a bundle of clean linens in her arms. M. Guérisseur had been a medicine vial during the enchantment, but now he was a rotund, middle-aged man with a pair of spectacles hanging from his nose. As soon as the guards deposited the master on to the mattress, the physician cut open his shirt with a pair of scissors, giving Belle a clear view of the master's unexpectedly well-defined torso. The physician inspected the makeshift bandage wrapped around his midriff, then assessed the rest of his body for further injuries.

At the same time, the interior doors to the West Wing opened to admit a new crowd of people into the room. In the lead was Belle's father, whose face lit up like a candle to see his daughter safe and sound.

"Oh Belle, thank heavens!" he cried as he hurried towards her.

"Papa!" Belle responded with a smile as she embraced him. She was so glad to know that he was safe from Gaston and the villagers who'd nearly locked him away. It was one thing to nearly lose the Beast, but she couldn't imagine what would have happened if she lost him _and_ her father in the same day.

"I was so worried," Maurice said, pulling away from his daughter in relief. "I saw Gaston fall from the tower and then there was all this light coming from the castle and people cheering and talking about a spell breaking. What happened to the Beast? And... who's that?" he asked, eyes widening as he registered the young man lying in the master's bed.

"That would be our master, otherwise known as His Royal Highness, the Prince," a servant answered beside them. Belle assumed that he was the castle's former dictionary, Webster based on his pretentious-sounding voice and distinctive half-moon spectacles. "He's responsible for ruling these lands. Or at least _was_ until an unpropitious enchantment forced him to put his duties on hold for a decade."

"Thanks to Belle's love for the master, we've all become human again!" a second servant piped in beside Webster excitedly. With his bristly, feather-like moustache, Belle immediately thought of the castle scribe, Le Plume.

"I don't believe it," she remarked incredulously. "The master was a prince all this time… and he never told me?"

"Ah, there's no need to be so melancholic, mademoiselle," said Webster, mistaking her disbelief for disappointment. "The master has been in denial of his true self for many years now. While he is indeed a prince in theory, he hasn't identified himself as such in a long time. It is only logical that he would have hidden such a portentous truth from you."

"You were lucky you all got to him when you did," M. Guérisseur interrupted, having finished the Prince's physical examination. "The master's sustained some serious trauma to his lower back and right shoulder. An incision and a puncture wound I suspect."

 _"Puncture wound?"_ Belle repeated. She hadn't remembered seeing a puncture on him when she'd bandaged him earlier.

The physician nodded. "My guess is that his attacker shot an arrow at him when they were fighting on the roof. He did seem to be well-armed."

 _My poor Beast,_ Belle mourned. How long had Gaston tortured him before she'd come to his aid? If not for the fact that the hunter was already at the bottom of the ravine, she would gladly give him a piece of her mind.

"Will you be able to help him, doctor?" Mrs. Potts asked hopefully.

"I can attempt to stitch up his injuries, but I will need everyone to leave the room first. Wounds this severe will require my full attention."

* * *

Outside the West Wing, Belle's understanding of the enchantment finally solidified as each servant shared their account of what had happened. Ten years ago, a young prince had been visited by an enchantress disguised as an old woman, seeking shelter from a blizzard. When the Prince turned her away even after she'd offered to pay him with a rose, she'd revealed her true form and turned him into a beast for his selfishness. She'd given the Prince until his twenty-first birthday to find someone to break his curse, and the rose as an indicator of how much time he had left. If all the petals fell before he found his true love, he would remain a beast forever. But if he found someone to love him before then, he would become a prince again, no strings attached. It was by pure chance that Belle declared her love for him just moments before the last petal fell. She'd been able to save him from his curse it seemed, but not from his injuries.

Belle then told everyone about what had happened after she'd returned to the village with Maurice. She told them about the mob and how her attempts to defend her father's sanity had backfired, as Gaston tore the mirror from her and rallied the townsmen to hunt down the monster he'd labelled as a "vicious child-abductor." To make matters worse, he'd also imprisoned Belle and Maurice in their cellar, so by the time Chip freed them so they could warn the Beast, the mob was already miles ahead of them.

"This is all my fault," Belle said after she'd finished her story, pressing her hands over her face in despair. "If only I told the Beast I loved him before I left, all this could have been avoided. I was so worried about my father, I didn't even think..."

"You can't blame yourself for everything, dearie," said Mrs. Potts, putting a hand on her shoulder in sympathy. "Your father needed you, and the master knew that. Better you be happy out there with him than be in here and suffer. Besides, you may have never realized your feelings for him if the invaders didn't come."

"But if he doesn't survive this?" she asked, eyes blurring with tears. "You've seen how bad he looks. If he _dies_ because of me..."

"You mustn't think that way, love. The master could have been in a much more frightening state if you weren't there to help him. Everything happens for a reason as I always say."

The West Wing doors opened again as M. Guérisseur exited the room with a bowl of bloody rags in hand. "I've done what I could," he announced, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. "Normally I'd give him some medicine for the pain, but in his state of unresponsiveness, I fear he may choke on it. Now it's just a matter of checking on his injuries regularly and seeing if he improves."

"Could I... stay with him?" Belle's voice sounded small and child-like. "Please?"

"Mademoiselle, the master has lost a great deal of blood," the physician said seriously. "Even with his wounds stitched up, it may be days before he shows any signs of consciousness."

"I understand. I just—I need to be with him." She couldn't explain why. All she knew was that she hadn't charged Philippe through a forest in the dead of night to be forcefully separated from her Beast, _again_. It wasn't enough for someone to tell her he would be all right. She had to see the truth for herself.

"Monsieur, the mademoiselle has been under a great deal of stress in the past several hours," Lumière said in understanding. "Let her spend some time looking after the master. She won't be any trouble. It's the least we can do, after everything she's done for us."

The physician sniffed in disapproval, but reluctantly saw the maître d's point. "Very well," he agreed. "I suppose it's not in my place to separate our two lovers, in any case."

"Thank you, monsieur," Belle replied graciously.

It had been less than an hour since the spell had broken and she'd already learned so many new details about the servants and the master, she almost didn't know what to do with it all. All that she knew was that somewhere in that unconscious man was the Beast she'd learned to love, and she had to stay with him, no matter what.


	2. Chapter 2

The servants placed an armchair next to the Prince's bed so Belle could sit and look after him while he recuperated. He was so still and lifeless; she had to watch for the gentle rise and fall of his chest to know that he was still alive.

Although Belle knew from the servants' stories that the Prince and the Beast were the same person, she still felt like she was nosing over a stranger as she watched him sleep; completely oblivious to her and his new humanity. She spent ages studying his features the way one might study the prose of a well-written book; the thick eyebrows, the strong chin, the straight nose and mildly tanned complexion. She'd never cared much for looks, but she had to admit that there was something compelling about his human—no _real—_ appearance was hard to look away from. There was no other way of saying it: he was _very_ handsome. It was a pity and a sin that he'd lost all that to fur and fangs for ten years. He would have broken a lot of hearts, and would have definitely given Gaston a run for his money, had he remained a prince.

 _Why didn't he tell me who he really was?_ This question ate at Belle's mind like an unsolvable riddle for the next several hours. Lumière and Webster had suggested that fear, pride and denial were the reasons for his secrecy, but she didn't believe a word of it. No one took the first eleven years of their life and shoved them under a rug like it was nothing. Yes, maybe the story of the enchantment was too painful for the Beast to talk about, and maybe he'd doubted that Belle would love him enough to break his curse in time. But didn't he have any faith that she could handle the truth after everything they'd been through? She'd told him things she'd never told anyone, not even her own father. So why hadn't he trusted her enough to share his own secrets?

Maybe he'd meant to tell her, eventually. Belle remembered when they were on the ballroom balcony the night before, he'd hesitated for a moment, like he wanted to say something important. But then she'd mentioned missing her father, and suddenly the conversation turned to _her_ and her needs while the Beast had faded into the background. Now it moved her to tears to realize that he'd willingly sacrificed his humanity for her that night, just so she could be with her father again.

"How could you do that to yourself?" she wanted to shout at him in frustration. But there was no sense in taking her anger out on an unconscious person. And she also knew that she couldn't be mad at him without putting some of the blame on herself. She'd never asked him about his past, after all. If she had, maybe all of this could have ended differently.

M. Guérisseur came by in the early afternoon to redress the master's wounds and recheck his vitals. He insisted that Belle leave the room to get some air, have a bite to eat, even rest for a while, but she wouldn't budge. Finally, he gave in, allowing her to help him clean the master's injuries and replace his old bandages. His wounds were red and swollen, and looked quite frightening with the addition of the stitches, but at least he wasn't bleeding as much anymore.

But as the physician completed the master's second medical examination, he noticed that they had another complication on their hands.

"His skin is quite warm," he remarked with a frown as he placed the back of his hand against the Prince's neck and forehead. "I suspect he may be coming down with a fever."

"A fever?" Belle looked up anxiously from where she'd been washing her hands in the nearby wash basin. "From what? The stab wound?"

He nodded. "I tried to clean it earlier, but given the depth of the injury and the likelihood that the hunter's knife was contaminated, an infection was bound to happen. But not to worry," he added reassuringly. "I know of a way we can treat him."

He left the West Wing and returned a few minutes later with some wet towels to put on the Prince's forehead to lower his temperature. Belle bit her lip in worry as she helped apply them. Every new ailment thrown on the Prince was prolonging his chances of getting better. Was he doing this to her on purpose?

The next few hours blended together for Belle like an uneasy dream. She often caught herself fidgeting with her hands and jumping if she thought she saw the Prince move even the tiniest fraction. She kept herself occupied by keeping his towels wet and removing and adding blankets based on his changing body temperature. Her stomach grumbled from not eating in several hours, but she still refused to leave his side.

At five o'clock in the evening, she heard a knock on the door and opened it to see Cogsworth, carrying a tray of hot soup in his hands.

"Ahem. Good evening, mademoiselle," he said awkwardly. "I thought you might be interested in some dinner while you watched over the master."

"Why thank you, Cogsworth," Belle replied in mild surprise. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" While she was genuinely pleased to see the majordomo, she found it puzzling that he would come upstairs to deliver dinner to her. Normally he arranged other servants to take care of her meals, not the other way around.

"Truthfully, I was looking to clear my head after everything that's happened," Cogsworth replied. "And since you haven't eaten anything since last night, Mrs. Potts thought it wise that I come up and bring you something."

"I see," Belle said in understanding. "Well that was very thoughtful of you both. You're welcome to come inside for a bit if you like. I wouldn't mind the extra company."

"Don't mind if I do, mademoiselle."

Cogsworth entered the West Wing and placed Belle's tray on a nearby table before plopping down in the chair beside hers. His gaze instinctively turned to the master, his expression sad and concerned as he took in his sickly form.

"Nothing new to report on him, I suppose?" he asked quietly.

"Not really," Belle replied. "He's just… sleeping." She wished she could say more, but she wasn't sure she'd be able to without dissolving into a puddle of tears. Instead, she bowed her head evasively and asked, "How are the others doing?"

"As well as they can be, given the circumstances," Cogsworth answered as he reclined back in his chair. "A lot of them are busy celebrating being human again right now. Others are talking about leaving the castle to find their relatives. Not that I can say I blame them," he added. "Ten years is a long time for anyone to be separated from their family. But out of respect for the master, I've requested that everyone wait a few days for him to heal before they make any plans."

Belle nodded in agreement. She didn't think the master would be too happy if he woke up and realized that half his staff had left without his knowledge. "And what about you?" she asked him. "Would you leave the castle when the master gets better?"

"The idea has crossed my mind a few times," he admitted. "There was a time—not too long ago in fact—when I fancied going back to England and retiring to a shack by the sea."

"Is that where you're from originally?" Belle asked curiously. "England?"

"Indeed." He nodded. "Mrs. Potts, Webster and Crane as well. All of us used to serve the Duke and Duchess of Millington back in Leyfield. Then, when their daughter moved to France to marry the master's father, they sent us to go along with her. The master's mother was very much like you, truth be told," he continued with a fond smile. "She was a highly spirited lady with a bit of a temper, though she could be very kind-hearted when the occasion called for it. And she _loved_ literature," he emphasized. "Especially poetry. The master's father used to send books of it to her every month to try and convince her to visit him."

"Well did it work?" Belle asked intriguingly.

He shrugged. "I suppose it did. They married each other after all. A shame it didn't last for long though. The master's mother died of an illness when her son was a small child, and his father died of grief shortly afterwards. After that, all the master had was us. We tried to raise him as best we could, but there was only so much we could do for him when he saw us as his servants and not his parents."

"That must have been difficult," Belle sympathized. "I'm sure no one expects to become a caregiver when their job is to run a household."

"Even so, mademoiselle, not a day passes that I don't wish we'd done more for him," Cogsworth admitted sadly. "That's why—as unpleasant as it sounds—I sometimes wonder if the enchantress's curse was her way of stepping in where we'd failed. I can't imagine the person the master would have become if she hadn't intervened. Or if he hadn't met you. You were truly the miracle that set him in his ways after all these years."

Belle's face flushed in embarrassment. "I didn't mean to be," she said, brushing a strand of hair away from her forehead self-consciously.

"But you did," he stressed, turning to her with a serious look on his face. "And we all have our lives back now, thanks to you."

For the next several minutes, Belle silently reflected on what Cogsworth had told her about the Prince's past. His whole backstory seemed so sad and piteous. Living away from her own father for six months was painful enough; she couldn't imagine how hard it was for the Prince to grow up without knowing his own parents.

At the same time, Cogsworth's story brought another concern to Belle's mind. Her Beast wasn't just a prince. He was a prince with royal connections and distant relatives she'd never met. What if when he woke up, he became a different person from the Beast she once knew? His priorities as a prince would not be the same as a beast's after all. Maybe he wouldn't want her around anymore once he resumed his duties and reconnected with his old life. Belle couldn't bear the thought of leaving him again, but given how little she really knew about him, she realized there was nothing to prove or disprove that possibility.

"Ah, but even with all the theatrics in this household, I'm afraid I'm far too deep in my work to think about retiring," Cogsworth announced after a period of long contemplation. "That, and I can't stand the idea of that foolhardy, waxy-headed lothario turning this place into shambles when I'm gone!"

Belle laughed at that. "One thing's for certain, Cogsworth. This castle wouldn't be the same without you."

* * *

The next morning, Belle groggily awoke from the Prince's sofa to see M. Guérisseur enter the West Wing again. She clumsily untangled herself from her blankets, which someone must have put on her the night before, and joined him by the Prince's bedside. From what the physician could see, the master's condition was not improving. His temperature had risen during the night, and now he was burning up like an oven.

"Please be honest with me, monsieur," Belle said as he dabbed at the Prince's forehead with some newly wetted towels. "Is he going to die?"

"I don't want to jump to any conclusions just yet, mademoiselle," M. Guérisseur replied solemnly. "But the fact is that a human body can only last three days without sustenance, which is what the master really needs to bring down his fever. Unless he regains consciousness soon, there's not much more we can do for him."

Belle looked down at the Prince despondently. _You can't give up on me! Not now!_

"You could try talking to him, perhaps," the physician added as an encouraging afterthought. "It might help."

"What would I say?"

"Anything you like. You could tell him about your favourite moments with him. Or read him some of your books. Sometimes patients respond better when they can hear their loved ones talking to them."

It was better than nothing. So for the first time in over a day, Belle left the West Wing in search of stories to read to her injured prince. After exchanging a few awkward pleasantries in the corridor with some servants who she may or may not have remembered during the curse, she made her way to the library. Unlike the West Wing, this room looked the same way it did during the enchantment. Belle navigated past the familiar shelves and tables with ease, until she found the place where she and the Beast had last read a book together. _Le Morte d'Arthur, Metamorphoses, The Odyssey, One Thousand and One Nights, Romeo and Juliet_ and _Tales of Mother Goose_ lay untouched on the table, exactly where they'd left them a few days ago. She scooped them all up in her arms and made a beeline back to the West Wing.

 _"What's here? A cup, closed in my true love's hand?"_ she read dramatically to the Prince half-an-hour later. _"Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end. O churl, drunk all, and left no friendly drop to help me after? I will kiss thy lips. Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, to make me die with a restorative."_

It was the last act of _Romeo and Juliet,_ the pinnacle moment when the "star-cross'd lovers" of Verona took their lives in a reckless act of passion. Belle remembered the first time she'd read this scene to the Beast, he'd been biting his nails over the irony that Romeo had killed himself with poison just a few moments before Juliet awoke from her fake death. Now, he lay just as still as Romeo had in the Capulets' tomb, showing no signs that he could hear her. Belle might as well have been reading her words to the empty air for all the good they did.

Fresh tears burned her eyes as she dropped the book to the floor. She quickly crossed the space between the chair and bed and knelt beside him, clutching his feverishly warm hand in hers.

"You can't leave me," she said in quiet desperation. "Not like this. I know how much you've suffered. I understand it all now. But I can't let you go thinking I never once cared about you, because I do! I care for you so much it hurts. You're the only true friend I've ever had. The only one who's ever taken an interest in me and my love of books. You made me feel at home where I'd never felt at home before. You gave me back my freedom even when you knew it would cost you your own. Don't leave me now when we've just been given a second chance to be together. You deserve to be happy. And you deserve to be here... with me."

Her heart skipped a beat as she felt an unexpectedly warm pressure around her palm. She looked down and was startled to see his fingers wrap around her hand before they became limp again.


	3. Chapter 3

He was coming back to her, slowly but surely. She could see it in the little things; the way his brows twitched in his sleep, the way he'd clench and unclench his fists, the way he'd shift from one side of the pillows to the other. Sometimes she caught him muttering things to himself, and while most of it was undecipherable, she swore she could hear her name in the mix a couple of times. But then she'd quickly chide herself for being so silly and presumptive. A lot of French words had the "bel" sound in it, after all. He could be talking about anything, really.

The following afternoon, Maurice stopped by the West Wing to pay his daughter a visit. Upon seeing him, Belle jumped from her chair and fixed him in a tight embrace.

"I'm so sorry I haven't been over to see you," she apologized. "I've been so busy with everything, I—"

"No need to explain yourself, my dear," Maurice replied, patting her on the back affectionately. "I know you've had a lot of things to juggle these past two days."

"How are you doing?" she asked him as they pulled away from each other. "Are the servants treating you well?"

"More than well." Maurice smiled. "With the way they've been feeding me up and playing music for me at dinner, you'd think I was some sort of exalted guest!"

Belle laughed at that. "They do have that effect," she agreed, remembering the wonderful cabaret they'd put on for her during her first night at the castle. She was glad to hear that they'd extended the same special treatment to her father, now that he was staying in the castle as their long-term guest.

"Monsieur Cogsworth has given me a space in the cellars to do some tinkering on their old equipment too," he added enthusiastically. "A lot of the machinery and plumbing here's deteriorated over years, so I thought I'd try my hand at fixing some of it. It's the least I can do to show these wonderful people my gratitude. But enough about me," He waved his hand dismissively. "How are _you_ doing, Belle?"

At his question, Belle wrapped her arms around her chest hesitantly. It was funny how she could talk to her father about almost anything, but when it came to addressing matters of heart, she had no idea where to begin. "I've been… getting by," she replied lamely. "I know the servants keep telling me I should rest and let someone else watch over the Prince for a while, but I can't. I want to be here for him when he wakes up. And if not, at least make sure he won't be alone if he—" she sighed heavily "—if he…"

"Dies?" her father finished attentively.

"Yes." She lowered her head, trying to choke back another wave of tears. Of course, she didn't want to believe in that possibility, but at the same time, she had nothing to rule it out. Her own mother had died from an illness that had seemed so minor at the time. Who was to say that the Prince wouldn't go out the same way? It wasn't fair that he should leave this world thinking he was alone and unloved, when the truth couldn't be more different.

Maurice fixed his daughter in a knowing gaze. "You really do love him, don't you?"

She looked back up at him and nodded. "I know it sounds crazy, Papa, especially after everything he did to us. But he really _did_ change. He saved me from a pack of wolves, he gave me his library, he even let me go back to you without asking for anything in return. The whole reason he's human right now is because he loved me. And because I loved him back."

"Belle, if you want to talk to me about crazy relationships, don't forget that I once asked your mother—a ship merchant's daughter with more wealth and status than I could ever hope to attain—to marry me," said Maurice. "And she said yes. Sometimes, love just happens. We can't explain why or how, it just does."

He put his hand on her shoulder and smiled. "All I've ever wanted is for you to be happy, Belle. And if you say that this Beast changed for the better, and has made you happier than anyone else, then I believe you. You've always had a way of seeing people for more than their appearances, but I've never seen anyone's personality move you as much as his. So, if you really love him, and you want to spend the rest of your life with him, then I will gladly honour your wishes."

A huge smile broke across Belle's face at her father's words. She hadn't realized how much she'd needed to hear them until now. "Thank you for understanding, Papa," she said, embracing him again. "And know that no matter what happens between us, I'll always be your daughter."

"And I'll always be your father," Maurice echoed. "I couldn't be more blessed to have you in my life."

As they pulled away from each other, Maurice added quietly, "I thought I'd let you know that the guards retrieved Gaston's body from the ravine, by the way. They've sent it back to the village… though I haven't heard any word on the villagers' reaction. I imagine they'll be arranging some sort of funeral for him."

Belle gritted her teeth angrily at this news. What made the villagers think that Gaston _deserved_ a funeral, after everything he'd done? Not only had he nearly killed her beloved Beast, but he'd tried to blackmail her into marrying him by confining her father to an insane asylum. He was a despicable, self-interested man, and he'd got what was coming to him.

But then her anger cooled as she tried to put herself in the villagers' shoes. Yes, Gaston was far from perfect, but he'd still been an influential figure in their town for years. Who was she to deny them their right to grieve for the man who'd all awed and inspired them, even if that admiration was misplaced? Maybe it was best that they remembered him as the man he once was, instead of the corrupted monster he'd become.

A groaning sound from the bed startled Belle from her thoughts. She and Maurice turned around, surprised to see the Prince lift his head from his pillows as his eyes fluttered open. Belle was at his side in an instant, heart racing like a wild horse.

"Beast—um, I mean, Your Highness?" she said to him anxiously. "Can you hear me?"

He seemed to barely register her or where he was as he replied in a raspy voice, "Thirsty. Water."

"Of course! Right away." Belle quickly poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the bedside table and brought it to his chapped lips. He wasted no time in downing the whole thing like a man who'd been wandering through the desert for days. Which, considering that he hadn't eaten or drank anything for two days, wasn't too far from the truth. After he'd drained the first glass, Belle poured him a second one which he finished off a little slower before smacking his lips and falling back against the pillows. He breathed heavily—but not laboriously—for a few minutes, before he drifted back into sleep.

He wasn't out of the woods just yet, but at least he was getting there.

* * *

Hearing from Belle that the master had woken up long enough to drink some water, M. Guérisseur finally decided to try giving him some medicine to treat his burning fever. He could spoon feed it to him without much difficulty, much to his delight, though based on his lethargy, it would still be a while before he fully regained consciousness.

"Still, it's progress," he noted optimistically. "I don't know what you did mademoiselle, but there may be some fight left in him after all."

The Prince's temperature dropped significantly thanks to the medicine, and by the next evening, it broke completely. His valet, Chapeau, who'd been a hat stand during the curse, came by to replace his sweat-soaked blankets and change him into a clean nightshirt. Now it was only a matter of time before he came around again. Belle just hoped she would be awake long enough to see that happen. Three days of lost sleep were catching up to her, and she was finding it harder to stop herself from dozing off, despite her best wishes.

Sometime after midnight, she fell asleep while reading aloud from _Le Morte d'Arthur,_ and awoke hours later to see sunlight sifting in through the windows across from her. Something had woken her; some sort of coughing noise, though it had sounded so soft and distant, she wasn't sure if she'd dreamt it or not. She rubbed her tired eyes, cracked back her stiff neck, and that's when she saw him.

The Prince was awake again, though she couldn't tell how long he'd been awake for. He seemed to dully observe his surroundings before he fixed himself on her, and Belle gasped. His eyes, which she hadn't seen clearly through his half-open lids the first time, were now alert and unmistakably blue. The exact same blue as her Beast's. The spell hadn't changed everything about his appearance after all.

"Belle?" he asked weakly. His voice was higher and quieter as a human, though it still carried the gentle timbre she remembered from the Beast. "What—?"

He tried to sit up, but only managed to move a fraction before wincing in pain. Seeing his discomfort, Belle snapped back to her senses. She quickly slipped out of her chair and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Try not to move too much," she advised him. "Your stitches might open."

He obediently fell back against the pillows with a small frown on his face. The expression vaguely reminded Belle of a time she'd told the Beast not to eat some cookies she'd baked for them because they were still hot. "What… happened?" he tried asking her again.

"You were stabbed back on the balcony," she answered promptly. "We managed to get you inside and patch you up, but you've been in and out of consciousness for almost four days now. This is the first time I've really seen you awake."

He looked into the distance, trying to process this information. Then he glanced back at her and his eyes glistened with emotion. "You stayed... for me?"

"Of course I stayed!" she replied. "I couldn't let you bleed out on the floor like that. I—"

She cut herself off, for just then, the Prince had slid his hands out from under his blankets and was holding them up with a puzzled expression on his face. Belle awaited his full reaction with bated breath. Based on what the servants had told her, this would be his first time seeing his hands in over a decade. She could only imagine how overwhelmed he'd be, to realize that the spell was truly broken and the girl who'd broken it was sitting right there next to him...

For a moment, the Prince's face was completely unreadable. Then, his lips curled into a scowl and his expression hardened. "This is a dream," he stated bitterly.

She stood there, momentarily confused before she understood. The Beast had spent so many years in the darkness, deprived of all hope or joy, that he could no longer believe his curse was breakable. Did he truly doubt that she could love him, after all this time?

"It's not a dream!" she insisted as she seated herself on the edge of the mattress. "You're really here, and so am I. See?" She grabbed his right hand and held it up against her cheek, silently praying that he would believe her.

The Prince stared at Belle incredulously for a moment, taking in the feeling of her cheek against his palm. Then, he turned over his left hand and hesitantly lifted it to touch the other side of her face. His touch wasn't as warm or as soft as the Beast's, but Belle found something strangely intimate about the skin-on-skin contact that made her want more. She leaned into his caress as his fingers slid from her cheek into her disheveled hair, which she'd neglected to brush in several days...

He blinked rapidly as the revelation finally hit him. "You're right. This _is_ real."

Without warning, his hands dropped from her face as he turned away from her. He spoke no words, but Belle could clearly see that he was trembling.

"Hey," she said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You'll be all right. Everything's going to be fine now. You'll see."

"B-Belle." His voice was soft and husky-sounding. "You... You saved me. You saved _all_ of us. How can I ever thank you?"

"You being here with me is enough," she replied. _"I love you."_

He looked back at her with wide, glossy eyes. "What did you say?"

"I love you," she repeated confidently. "And I'm not leaving you again. Not ever."

His eyes grew even wider as he took in the immensity of these words. A huge grin traced across his lips as he wiped his tears away with his shirt sleeve. "I love you too," he replied clearly. Then, he carefully leaned towards her until she could see all the details of his blue eyes; his gaze so intense, she could feel herself blushing. She remembered all the hours she'd spent watching him sleep, wondering what it would be like to kiss him, and could now feel a delicious thrill run through her as she saw a similar longing reflected in his eyes. Forgetting her inhibitions, she broke the remaining distance between them and pressed her lips to his.

For a few drawn-out seconds, she worried that she was being too hasty. The Prince had just woken up after all. Maybe she'd read his signals wrong, and he wasn't in the mood for a kiss at all. But then his hand cupped her cheek and she felt her body relax into his as he deepened the kiss, tilting his face so his tongue could trace tenderly across her lower lip and teeth. _No, definitely not a mistake._ They let weeks of repressed desire, pain and relief come out in that kiss, and although he tasted of the bitter medicine M. Guérisseur had given him earlier, Belle didn't care because he was kissing her, and she loved him, and nothing bad would ever happen to them again as long as she stayed in his strong arms. She'd read enough fairy tales to know that true love's kiss was "the most powerful thing in the world," but she'd never known that it could feel like _this._  
  
When they finally pulled away, they let their noses touch for a few minutes as they both caught their breaths.

"If I'd known that's what it felt like," the Prince said through closed eyelids, "I would have told you I loved you long ago."

"I adore you," Belle replied as she propped herself up beside him. But then her face fell as his comment brought to mind all the secrets he'd kept from her for the past six months. Would it be rude of her to spoil the mood now by bringing them all up?

He seemed to answer her own question, for when she turned back to him, he was staring at her with a curious expression on his face. "What is it?" 

His voice was so concerned and attentive, it was like they were back in the library, having a deep conversation between one of their long reading sessions. How could Belle possibly ignore a caring, irresistible-sounding voice like that? She sighed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"About the curse," she elaborated. "About who you _really_ are. I mean, I knew the castle was enchanted, but I never realized that you were all actually _human._ If I had... I would have tried to break the spell ages ago."

"Because it wasn't your burden to bear," the Prince replied solemnly. "Belle, I'd done a terrible thing by forcing you to become my prisoner. I took your father and your freedom away, for no reason other than needing someone to break my curse. I must have thought about apologizing to you over a thousand times"—he lowered his gaze in remorse—"but I didn't know how to say it. It wasn't until that night, when I let you see your father in the mirror, that I realized the full extent of what I'd done. Here I was, about to confess my love for you, while your father was dying out in the woods."

He looked back up at her, and his eyes were full of grief. "How could I live with myself, knowing I'd caused something like that to happen? Even if by some miracle, you returned my feelings, the guilt of what I'd done to get you there would always haunt me. I could never forgive myself. So, I decided to do the next best thing and stop dragging you into my problems. I let you go free… so you could have your life back."

"But at your expense," Belle countered, warm tears trickling down her face. "You nearly lost your freedom and your life that night, all because of me. _Why?"_

"Because I loved you," he replied, running his fingers through her hair tenderly. "And I couldn't bear to see you in anymore pain. If I had to be a Beast forever, just so you could be happy, so be it. All my life I'd been spoiled and selfish; for once I wanted to do something meaningful, for someone who wasn't myself. I could die at peace, knowing what it was like to love someone. It wasn't what I'd hoped for, but it was good enough."

Belle sniffled as she buried her face in the Prince's shoulder. Even if his reasons for letting her go were right and justified in his mind, she wasn't sure she'd ever get over how much he'd sacrificed for her that night. As she'd learned in the past few days, a life of unreciprocated love wasn't really a life at all. She had no idea how he could have hidden his feelings for so long without telling her. "Promise me, you won't keep secrets from me like that again?" she asked, looking back up at him. _"Promise?"_

"I promise," he vowed. "And... I'm sorry I wasn't brave enough to tell you the truth sooner. I never meant to hurt you."

"We both hurt each other, but in different ways," she reasoned. "I shouldn't have left you in the West Wing that night, when you looked so sad and heartbroken. I meant to tell you that I would come back, but I was so worried about my father, all I could think about was finding him. I'm just glad we're together now so we can set things right again."

"As am I." He took her hands in his. "Belle, I wouldn't be lying if I said that you'd make me the happiest Beast— _man_ alive, if you'd agree to marry me. You're so smart and beautiful and, and strong, and you changed me, not just on the outside, but on the inside, too. Because of you, I learned to become a better person, and I learned to love and be happy when I couldn't before. I don't know why the people in your village couldn't see the value in you, because to me, you are everything. There's no one else I could imagine spending the rest of my life with."

His expression lowered. "But I also know that living in this castle without the enchantment is probably a big adjustment. And maybe... after being my prisoner for so long, committing yourself to me for the rest of your life isn't what you want. So"—he bowed his head humbly—"instead of a marriage proposal, I'm willing to offer you a reward, as my way of saying thank you. If there's anywhere in the world you want to travel to, just say the name and I'll cover all the expenses you need to get there. You can bring your father along too if you like. It will be like going on the adventure you've always wanted."

She could feel herself tearing up again, unspeakably moved to know that her Beast would give up his own dreams of marriage, just to make her happy. It was nothing like how she'd felt when Gaston had proposed, kicking his smelly boots onto her dining table and imposing his ideals of what _his_ little wife should be like. The Prince put _her_ needs first, and that made her want him even more. "You would compensate my love for you… with a free vacation?" she replied. "That's not how it works at all! No adventure would be complete without you in it. And if you'd go along with me as my—" she lingered for a moment at the enticing-sounding word _"—husband,_ all the better."

He widened his eyes in disbelief. "That's a yes, then? You'll… you'll marry me?"

"I will," she confirmed. And she meant it. Watching over the Prince for three days had made her realize exactly how much she needed him. To contemplate a world without him was simply unbearable. There was no one she could imagine spending the rest of her life with. And no one she would ever love as much as she loved him.

An elated smile appeared on the Prince's face, not unlike a smile Belle had seen on the Beast when he'd given her his library a lifetime ago. "Thank you so much, Belle," he replied. "You have no idea how happy I am to hear that."

This time, there was no initial awkwardness as they came together for a second kiss. Belle melted into his arms, and would have happily stayed there forever, if not for the sound of a door opening, followed by Babette's high-pitched voice.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle!" she called sweetly as she closed the door behind her with one hand, precariously holding a tray of porridge and croissants in the other. "I have brought you some _petit déjeuner_ to start off your morning. It is—" She turned around and gasped as she caught sight of Belle and the master, lying in bed and locked in an amorous embrace.

She blinked rapidly for a few seconds, processing what she was seeing before she cocked her head up and cleared her throat. _"Très bien._ I will leave it here for you then," she said, dropping the platter on the nearby table. _"Bon appetit!"_

Babette scurried out of the room as quick as a mouse, but not before Belle caught the barest hint of a smirk on her face. When she turned back to the Prince, she was cringing. "She's going to tell Lumière about this, isn't she?"

"Oh, let her talk," he replied indifferently. "They could use some good news."

"I should let the others know you're awake," Belle went on, thinking of her father and the other servants downstairs. "They've all been so worried. Monsieur Guérisseur will want to check on your stitches again, too."

He yawned. "Send them all in, then. But please, do me a favour after."

"What's that?"

"Get. Some. Rest," he emphasized. "You look exhausted."

Belle lowered her eyes. She'd heard as much from the servants, but she'd ignored them all for the sake of looking after her Prince. Her father didn't call her a stubborn mule for nothing after all. "It's been hard for me to sleep these past few days," she admitted. "I've been so scared for you. For a while, we really thought you weren't going to make it."

"Well you don't have to be scared anymore, Belle," the Prince assured her as he squeezed her hand. "I'm awake. And don't intend on checking out again any time soon. Not when I'm going to marry the most incredible woman in the world."

Belle giggled at that. She kissed him lightly on the forehead. "Don't forget what I said about moving around too much."

"I won't," he promised.

She smiled and left the room, feeling lighter than she had in ages.

* * *

M. Guérisseur removed the Prince's stitches two weeks later, though a jagged scar remained on his back, where it would likely stay for the rest of his life. It wasn't the Prince's idea of a birthday present, but it was still better than the alternative. In time, he came to see his disfigurement as a testament to the hard lessons he'd learned, and the love he'd found that night. The fact that Belle said it made him look "tough" was a nice ego booster, too.

In the weeks between his recovery and his wedding day, the Prince's feelings for Belle only grew stronger. He never thought it could work, that someone so beautiful and intelligent could ever love a monster like him, but she had, and the fact that she'd nursed him back to health for four days afterwards made him love her even more. He was eager to make up for their lost time once he could leave his bed, showering her with all the physical affection he'd longed to but never dared give her as a beast. Through cuddles, kisses and long conversations their romance blossomed into something more beautiful than he could have ever imagined. Though they still argued from time to time, it never grew to a point that they stopped caring about each other. 

Most importantly, the Prince had Belle to thank for breathing life back into him and helping him overcome his fear of hoping for the impossible. It had cost him a broken heart and a stab in the back for these things to come to fruition, but he would happily relive the experience over and over if it would take him to where he was now. He loved life, he loved Belle, and he looked forward to being there, by her side, for the rest of his days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! Thank you all for your lovely comments and kudos. I never meant for this story to be longer than a few chapters, so I apologize if you were expecting more, because this is all I planned to write. I hope you enjoyed it in any case.
> 
> A bit of trivia for interested readers: I originally came up with the idea for this story back in 2010, after listening to the song, "Sleep Well, My Angel" by We Are The Fallen. The story doesn’t have much resemblance to the song as it did in my earlier drafts (which have since been lost on a USB I can't find anymore), but I kept it as the story's title for sentimental reasons. If you're interested in listening to the song itself, the link is [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3dYhU6mGkj4)
> 
> I also wrote a very awful blooper for the end of chapter two, which you can read here on my [tumblr](http://a-lost-illusion.tumblr.com/post/160896612587/sleep-well-my-angel-chapter-2-blooper/mobile) if you're interested. Consider it a bonus present, if you will.


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